


Breakfast Blues

by a_good_soldier



Series: Karaoke Boys [2]
Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk Shenanigans, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-08-23 12:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16619252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_good_soldier/pseuds/a_good_soldier
Summary: The aftermath of The Feud! Will the Worth It boys find love? Will Steven recover from his hangover? Will Andrew and Shane give each other useful advice — and more importantly, follow it?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> wow it's finally here!! this is the first of two planned sequels in this series — this one is primarily standrew, and the next will be mostly shyan :-) thank u all for ur lovely feedback on The Feud and the other fics i've written for the boys!

After the next song is over, Andrew starts to get a little worried when he can’t find Steven anywhere. He spots Adam, who’s the most likely to know where their local fancy boy has gotten himself. “Hey, uh,” he starts awkwardly, “you seen Steven?”

“I think he’s on the patio with Niki,” Adam says. He frowns a little, and adds pointedly, “Are you and Shane okay?”

Andrew blinks. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t we be?”

Adam huffs out a tiny laugh, leaning back as though he’s just figured something out. Uh-oh. “Steven said you two were having a ‘heated discussion’ near the bathroom.” Adam smirks. Ah, shit. “Glad you worked it out.”

Worked it out. Christ. “Yeah, we, uh, got it all figured out,” Andrew stutters. He could go for a sinkhole, or really just any kind of environmental catastrophe to remove him from this situation.

“Get outta here,” Adam says, quiet but authoritative as he often is on set. Andrew gratefully escapes and finds the back door.

The patio is beautifully lit, but it’s still essentially a glorified back porch. He spots Niki and Steven leaning on the low fence, facing into the alleyway just beyond it. “Hey,” he says, not wanting to startle them.

Looks like he does anyway, since Steven jerks as he turns around. Niki doesn’t seem to care, though, and Andrew sees her put a pipe back in her bag. It’s that kind of night, then.

“I’m gonna head back inside,” she says, patting Steven on the arm clumsily. Andrew gets a whiff of weed as she brushes past him, and he resists the urge to ask her for some. He should probably be as clear-headed as he can be for this conversation.

Andrew joins Steven up near the fence, and Steven clears his throat instantly. “So,” Steven says. “How’s— how’s your night?”

Andrew can see that Steven’s whole face is red, which could just be the alcohol, but he has a sneaking suspicion it’s something else. He sighs. Deciding to bite the bullet, he says, “You heard me and Shane.”

“Yeah.” Steven takes a long pull from the cocktail next to him, and Andrew has to avert his eyes from Steven’s mouth wrapped around the straw. He’s pretty sure California was supposed to ban plastic straws, right? **PLASTIC BAD FOR ENVIRONMENT** blares through his mind like the rambling of some obscenity-censoring caveman.

Andrew’s not sure what else there is to say about it. Clearly something about what he overheard has made Steven uncomfortable, but Andrew doesn’t know how to ask _so, did you hear Shane pretending to be you while he fucked me_ without… well, without asking that.

Steven saves him by speaking first. “I’m sorry I heard that without your permission,” he says quietly. “You probably didn’t want anyone to know.”

Andrew shrugs. “We did have sex in a public bathroom. I’m pretty sure we’re not really entitled to privacy at that point.”

“Still.” Steven drinks more, and Andrew watches with concern as Steven’s hands tremble as he sets down his drink. “I hope it’s okay I made up a story about you guys fighting. I figured you wouldn’t want anyone else running into you.”

“I appreciate it,” Andrew replies, entirely honestly. “Really. I mean it.”

Steven blows out a breath. Then, he asks, “So… is it okay if I ask how long you two have been together?”

Andrew barks out a laugh, and regrets it when Steven flinches. “Oh, no, it’s— Steven, it’s fine. It’s fine to ask. I just— we just hooked up this once, we’re not together or anything like that.”

“Oh.” Steven laughs self-consciously. “Yeah, that was probably— what a stupid question.”

“No, Steven—”

“I shouldn’t have assumed.” Steven throws another laugh out, and Andrew frowns at its self-deprecating tone, at the way Steven seems to shrink into himself as he pastes a grin on his face. “But, uh, good on ya?”

“Yeah, sure,” Andrew says distractedly. Putting his hand on Steven’s shoulder, he starts, “Look—”

“You probably wouldn’t date anyone from the office anyway,” Steven says, pulling back. His words are slurring a little, and Andrew looks worriedly at the nearly-empty glass next to him. “Would be a stupid— stupid move, right? You wouldn’t do that.”

“Steven,” Andrew placates. He’s not even sure why he needs to disabuse Steven of this notion; right now, he just knows that he can’t let Steven think whatever it is that he’s thinking right now. “It’s not about that.”

“Uh huh.” Steven sounds far from convinced, but he polishes off his drink in one long slurp and lurches towards the door. “I gotta get another drink.”

“I think—” Andrew leans forward to steady Steven as he stumbles. “I think you might’ve had enough, buddy.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve had enough,” Steven sneers, and it’s so dark that Andrew steps back. That didn’t sound like Steven at all. Steven himself seems to realize how out of character it is, since he sighs. “Never mind. I’m— you’re probably right. I should get home.”

“Are you okay to get home alone?” Andrew follows Steven back inside.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Steven says, stumbling when he runs into the table closest to the door. Jesus. “It’s fine, I just— I gotta pay my tab,” and he sits down in the empty seat next to Adam, making no move to get up. Yikes.

“I got it, buddy,” Andrew says, feeling like it’s the least he can do when Steven overheard him getting pounded in the bathroom. His face heats as he asks the bartender to close up both his and Steven’s tabs, and he only regrets his decision a little when he sees that Steven has managed to rack up an impressive $60 bill. Admittedly, his last drink had two extra shots of rum, which is… concerning.

He comes back to see Steven faceplanted into his arms on the table. “I don’t know if he can go home on his own,” Adam says. “I tried to make him drink water but he only got through half a glass before saying he felt sick.”

“I’ll take him home,” Andrew says gruffly, deliberately ignoring the spark in Adam’s eyes. He bundles Steven up in his jacket and makes sure he has his wallet and his keys on him, and then gets an Uber. He types in Steven’s address by memory.

They wave goodbye to the squad, and Andrew can’t help but notice Ryan in the dark booth, sidling in closer to Shane, who is holding himself loose and relaxed with his beer. Good. Andrew offers him a nod, and he gets Shane’s raised pint glass in response. God, they’re such fucking douchebags. He breaks into a laugh, and from across the bar, Shane gives him a wink, and then turns back to the rest of his tablemates.

“Sure you’n Shane ‘rn’t ‘nything special?” Steven says, sloppy and grouchy, as they wait outside for their car. His head is bent over and he’s breathing in and out as though he’s trying to stop himself from vomiting, and Andrew rubs his back comfortingly.

“I promise. We’re just friends,” Andrew says, and watches his screen as the car icon inches closer and closer. Finally, it arrives, and Andrew gently wrangles Steven into the backseat before getting in himself.

They’re heading to Steven’s place first even though his place is closer, since he’s absolutely not going to leave Steven in an Uber by himself. It should be about a fifteen minute drive, which isn’t too bad, so Andrew leans back and looks over at Steven. His head is lolled back against the headrest, eyes closed.

“You feelin’ okay?” He’s sure Steven’s been drunk before, but honestly, he’s probably never been _this_ drunk. Andrew tries not to think about why Steven might’ve wanted so much to drink.

“Yeah,” Steven croaks out. “Ohhhh man, why does anyone drink, ever?”

“Usually they don’t drink _this_ much,” Andrew says, trying not to sound like he’s judging Steven.

“Ughhhhhh,” Steven groans. “Oh my god, how am I gonna get to my bed?”

“Do you need me to come home with you?” Andrew asks, before realizing how it sounds.

Steven nods, and then instantly inhales sharply. “Oh— oh man, I shouldn’t— move my head. Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy.”

Andrew rubs Steven’s shoulder in an attempt to soothe his nausea. That’s kind of ridiculous, but it’s what he does. “You’re okay, buddy.”

Steven makes a noise that sounds sort of like _Bleghh_ , and then straight up passes out on Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew moves his hand to Steven’s hair and strokes it, for lack of anything better to do with his fingers. And, maybe, because he’s still head over heels for this knucklehead. Yeesh.

They arrive at Steven’s place without further mishap, and Andrew gives the driver a 5-star rating before attempting to wake up Steven, getting out of the car, and half-dragging Steven into his building.

They’re in the elevator, and Andrew hits the button for the tenth floor on autopilot. Steven leans into Andrew’s body, and Andrew has to hold Steven’s waist just to keep him from falling over. He can’t help but breathe in the scent of his body wash or shampoo or whatever it is that Andrew associates with Steven, tainted only a little by alcoholic sweat. They’re a little too close for Andrew’s comfort, but the man looks like he’ll collapse without support, so Andrew bears it.

Steven’s thigh is inching closer to the space between Andrew’s legs; thankfully, before he can make contact, the elevator doors open. “C’mon,” Andrew says under his breath, guiding Steven to his apartment.

“Man,” Steven says as Andrew fits Steven’s key into the lock, “thanks for comin’ home with me. Wow. I am… so drunk.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Andrew says, setting Steven down on the couch. He locks the door behind him, turns the lights on, and fills up a glass of water. “Okay. Drink this.”

He sits down on the floor in front of Steven and watches as he sips at the water. “You gotta change, buddy. I don’t think you wanna sleep in those clothes.”

“Nah,” Steven says, “you’re right.” And he takes his clothes off right there in his living room, so he’s only in his underwear. Hot dog boxers, Andrew notes automatically, before the situation really dawns on him.

He’d feel like a real douchebag eyeing Steven up when he’s wasted out of his mind, though, so Andrew lurches to his feet and turns around. “You want pajamas to wear to bed?”

“I usually sleep in my underwear anyway,” Steven says from behind him, like that’s not a bombshell Andrew wasn’t ready to hear.

“Cool,” Andrew chokes out. Turning back to lead Steven to his bedroom, he dumps him into his bed, and asks, “Okay if I sleep on your couch?”

“Yeah,” Steven says. His eyes flutter shut gently, and he shimmies over to the far side of the bed. Andrew can’t help but notice that Steven has a queen sized mattress. Steven adds, “Or in my bed.”

“Oh.” Andrew clears his throat. “I’d— I’d better— I’m fine on the couch.”

Steven opens his eyes to pout up at him. Oh Christ. “You’d rather sleep on my tiny couch instead of in bed where it’s comfy? Am I that unappealing?”

“No, it’s not—” Andrew doesn’t know how to say that Steven is _too_ appealing without— well, without saying that. So he says, “You’re drunk, Steven.”

“Please?” Steven blinks up at him. His lips part, just a little, and for some godforsaken reason he’s got his right hand loosely wrapped around his own neck, and he’s stroking his own jawline with tiny movements of his fingertips like some PG rendition of Andrew’s worst, filthiest fantasies all at once. “What if I need a cuddle buddy?”

“Oh my God,” Andrew breathes out. Louder, he says, “I— Steven—”

“Oh shit,” Steven says, as though he’s just realized what he’s asked. “I’m sorry. That was so— fuck.”

“No—”

“Obviously you don’t— or you would’ve— I’m such a dumbass.”

“You’re not a dumbass, Steven,” Andrew says, totally lost.

“If I was Shane you wouldn’t hesitate,” Steven says, so fast it almost blurs together, and then he literally slaps his hands over his mouth like a kid who’s admitted to stealing from the cookie jar.

Andrew sighs. He sits down on the edge of Steven’s bed and carefully avoids eye contact and says, “It’s not about you being unappealing, Steven.” He gulps, and adds, feeling brave and maybe still riding the endorphin high of fucking Shane with his coworkers ten feet away, “It’s kind of the opposite, actually. We can talk about this in the morning when you’re operating at full capacity, okay?”

“What if I forget?” Steven rolls over to hold Andrew’s hand. Andrew doesn’t try to fool himself into thinking that the contact is anything less than electric; he shudders and turns his hand palm up to lace his fingers together with Steven’s, and watches, enthralled, as Steven grins slowly. He adds, “I mean it. What if I forget this? Will you remind me?”

“Steven, if you don’t want this in the morning...” Andrew doesn’t know how to say that it’ll ruin him.

But Steven says, “Please, Andrew. You gotta promise me,” and Andrew isn’t made of steel.

So he relents. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll make sure we talk about it in the morning.”

Steven grins. “Awesome.” He pulls his hand back and rolls onto his side, one leg splayed on top of the covers and the other underneath. Andrew runs his eyes over Steven’s exposed leg until he really feels like a piece of shit and goes to get himself some blankets.

* * *

Andrew expects Steven’s going to wake up with a hangover rivalling Kornfeld’s worst, so he figures the least he can do is make him breakfast. Admittedly, his motivations are a little less than pure; he doesn’t bother to put a shirt on, and rests a dish towel on his shoulder since that, apparently, really gets the thirsty Youtube commenters going.

He’s just flipping his third pancake when Steven stumbles out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Oh, God. He’s _adorable_.

“Hey, Andrew, are you—” Andrew glances over to see Steven swallow visibly. “Uh. You’re.” Steven foregoes words to just wave his hands in Andrew’s general direction, and suddenly Andrew regrets his decision. It’s too forward, too much, too soon. Shit.

He can feel a blush starting in the back of his neck, and so he just says, “Yeah, I, uh. Didn’t really pack a change of clothes, and my shirt smelled really gross.” It’s not wrong, technically, and the last thing he wants to do is make Steven more uncomfortable with unwanted insinuations. “I can put it back on if I’m making you uncomfortable, though.”

“No,” Steven squeaks. At a more reasonable pitch, he continues, “I mean, I can give you one of mine. You don’t have to be in a sweaty shirt all day.”

“Okay,” Andrew says, not commenting on the implication that he won’t be going home for a good while yet. For long enough that it’s worth borrowing one of Steven’s shirts. Jesus. “Thanks.”

Steven goes into his bedroom and comes back with a Transformers T-shirt, which ends up being just a little tight in the arms for Andrew. He flexes a little, mostly as a joke, and although Steven laughs, Andrew sees him track the movement of his biceps before he turns back to pour more batter onto the pan. It’s gratifying to know that Steven thinks he’s hot, at least, even if that doesn’t necessarily translate to anything worth pursuing in reality. In fact, the more Andrew thinks about it, the less likely it seems that Steven could want to date him. Really, he’s just made himself a more appealing candidate for a casual hookup with his blatant and embarrassing escapade with Shane in a karaoke bar bathroom.

Maybe Steven is nervous about hooking up with a guy. Maybe he wants Andrew to be his easy way in, the friend he can experiment with consequence-free. Andrew flips the pancake and is suddenly struck by the memory of Shane looming over him hot and close — Shane thinking aloud, vicious and cruel in his even tone, _It would be Steven’s first time, after all_ — and swallows hard.

They sit down at Steven’s little breakfast nook with their pancakes and scrambled eggs, and Andrew is kind of struck senseless by the way the morning sun lights up Steven’s hair, his cheeks, the charming quirk of his mouth as he tastes Andrew’s food. There’s something rolling in his gut at this parody of a morning after, and Andrew distracts himself from it with breakfast carbs.

“M’sorry again for last night,” Steven says, mouth half full.

“What?” Andrew turns to him. “What are you talking about? You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Steven.” If anything, Andrew should apologize for the mess he made of himself last night with Steven as an unwitting and unwilling aural witness, but he’s not quite ready for that experience to be unpacked in the light of day.

Steven shrugs. “I got pretty drunk, and I know I said some embarrassing stuff. I just don’t want you to think that I— that I feel entitled to have a say over who you hook up with, or whatever. You should sleep with whoever you want, without, you know, me all over it.” His cheeks flush. “And, when I asked you to come to bed…”

Andrew puts his fork down. He didn’t even need to remind Steven. Breathless, he prompts, “Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry. That was a mistake.” Steven winces as he says it, like he knows it’s too harsh, but there’s not much you can do to make the truth hurt less. Andrew nods slowly as the full blow hits him. It takes him a second, two seconds, three, to internalize what Steven is saying: _That was a mistake. I didn’t really want you in my bed. I didn’t want you touching me, looking at me. I didn’t want you at all._ Steven shakes his head. “No, I just meant— Andrew—”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Andrew says quickly, trying to pull himself together. He tries to pretend that they’re at work, that Rie and Adam are watching from behind ten cameras; he tries to simulate an air of healthy, friendly ribbing, the kind of banter that keeps their view count in the millions. Swallowing down more of his pancake, he continues, a smirk on his face that is absolutely 100% artificial, “I’ve done way more embarrassing shit drunk.”

He looks over and Steven’s staring straight into his plate. “Yeah. I guess.”

Andrew bumps his shoulder against Steven’s, since it seems like the most platonic physical contact he can think of. Through the haze of disappointment clouding his senses, choking up his throat, he says, “Hey. I’m serious. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed over. We can totally forget about last night.”

“For real? Are we cool?” Steven asks, turning his head to look him in the eyes, honest and open as he always is. That should’ve been Andrew’s first clue; Steven is so rarely subtle that the idea of him secretly having feelings for Andrew — the idea of Steven wanting him in any meaningful capacity without instantly making it obvious — is totally absurd. Andrew would’ve known. Instead, he let his worst impulses take over and took advantage of his friend’s inebriation, letting himself get carried away imagining that Steven’s drunk ramblings would mean anything in the daylight.

“Of course,” Andrew says, doing his best to exude maturity and calm. This is fine. “Steven, you’re my best friend. Of course we’re cool.”

Steven blows out a long breath. “Man. I was worried this was gonna be so awkward.”

“Awkward morning afters are kinda part of the hangover package, man,” Andrew quips on autopilot, before realizing what he’s just said. He could kick himself. He half laughs, to try to signal that it’s cool, he’s cool, the sum of _Steven + morning after_ is a complete non-issue to him, and rambles, “But I mean, we can. We can forget about it. Last night never happened.”

“Awesome,” Steven says, and if he’s not at his hundred-watt smile quite yet, Andrew will chalk it up to any of the dozens of factors which could be bringing him down. “Also, have I told you these pancakes are amazing? Because, dude. These are _amazing_.”

“Thanks, Steven.” Andrew can’t help the undoubtedly humiliatingly sappy look on his face, but Steven doesn’t seem to mind. They slip back into their comfortable back and forth, Steven complaining about the sun in his eyes and Andrew complaining about the mountain of work waiting for him at home and both of them pausing to wax poetic about the maple syrup Steven splurged on to get shipped from some sugar shack in Quebec.

There’s something tugging at Andrew’s chest the whole conversation, even if really, nothing’s changed. It was far fetched to ever imagine that Steven, with his wide-eyed sense of adventure and his sheer, unbridled passion for everything life seems to throw at him, could find anything in Andrew worth risking a friendship and a staple show. If he’s honest with himself, this was the best possible outcome.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter brought to you by the moment at cento pasta bar at 7:12 in the [spaghetti video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3nPEkZv0-OU) where andrew looks steven up and down and says “I had a really good time with you here today” in the softest voice known to humanity. also it is brought to you by [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jpT4dTILlQw) and the whole concept of early buzzfeed andrew as a thirst trap which is both hilarious and deeply satisfying to me.

Andrew ends up using Steven’s shower before he goes home. He recognizes the scent of his shampoo — _that’s_ what it is — and closes his eyes in the shower, involuntarily imagining that Steven is there with him. It’s just another hurt to add to the pile.

Once he gets home, though, he’s not sure what to do with himself. He didn’t make any plans for the day.

Or, well, he did, and he didn’t want to think about them too hard for fear of jinxing them, but he remembers the reason he douched and stretched himself out before going out last night. It’s so embarrassing to think about now after an unequivocal rejection, but he’d made plans to maybe get Steven to see him in a new light, maybe kiss him under the beautiful patio lights, maybe lay him out in his bed and let him do whatever he wanted with Andrew.

He told himself not to presume, but he went ahead and pinned all his hopes on his own courage last night, a courage which failed him at the last minute. Maybe he hadn’t had enough to drink, or maybe he’d had too much. And now Andrew’s stuck pining as per fucking usual, while Steven flushes red at the sight of him because he overheard Andrew and Shane fucking in a bathroom.

Andrew changes into sweatpants and a T-shirt and scrolls through his subscriptions on his couch. He manages to entertain himself for about fifteen minutes with some older Pez videos, which lead him down the rabbit hole of stop motion animations and ferrofluids and shitty DIY videos, and then suddenly it’s four in the afternoon and he’s watching a ten minute long video titled _1,000,000 Dominoes Falling is Oddly SATISFYING_ , which is a new fucking low.

After that’s over, he considers reading a book, but he knows it won’t be enough stimulation. He fries some red pepper slices and finds feta or something at the back of his fridge (working as part of the Tasty crew does have its benefits) for protein, and puts in his Stargate Atlantis DVDs for some background noise.

Half an episode in, he decides that texting Shane is a logical thing to do here. They’re friends anyway, he reasons, and he should at least make sure he’s okay with what went down last night. **Hey buddy** is what he ends up with, which isn’t great, but it starts the conversation at least.

Shane, predictably, replies with a sharp: **Loving the no homo aesthetic we have going on**

**Shut up** Andrew sends, even though it’s kind of deserved. Then: **Sorry, that totally was no homo-y. Just figured I should ask how you’re doing**

He gets caught up in what’s happening on screen, and looks back at his phone a few minutes later to five new texts from Shane.

**All good here**

**Embarrassing: told Ryan about last night. Received an ambiguous response**

**Which is to say, he looked kinda pissed but then jerked off right in front of me?? Again, unclear. May require further data**

**That wasn’t a proposition. Totally came across that way tho which is my bad**

**To clarify, you are hot and I would have sex with you again, but I didn’t mean to throw a sleazy pick up line at you. Jesus Christ I’m really bad at this why does anyone sleep with me**

Andrew laughs aloud at his screen, and then sends: **Probably because of your huge dick and disgustingly attractive confidence. Plus who just walks around being six feet tall? Ridiculous.**

**6’4”** is the immediate response, which is so absurd that Andrew can’t stop himself from grinning at the screen.

He already feels better and is ready to spend the rest of his evening alone with his TV, but Shane texts him again: **What are you doing today?**

Andrew sends: **I’m watching sag like I’m back in high school**

***SAG**

*** S G A**

**Fuck**

Shane’s reply comes in a second later: **Stargate Atlantis? Nice. Mckay and Sheppard are meant to be. Also who uses autocorrect in the year of our lord 2018?**

**What the fuck?** Andrew sends instantly. Then: **Are you joking? Do you turn off word predictions too and just type everything out manually?**

**Yes because I’m not a heathen wtf** Shane replies. God. Andrew can’t believe he slept with this guy.

**Wow. Unreal**

Shane doesn’t reply for a few minutes, and Andrew gets back into the episode. Then he figures… well, Shane is clearly a Stargate fan. **Wanna come over and watch some stargate?**

**Are you asking me to… NETFLIX AND CHILL BABY???????????????!!!!!!** Shane sends, which is sort of embarrassing in that it doesn’t make Andrew any less attracted to him. A few seconds later: **Also yes definitely, love me some SGA**

**Cool** Andrew sends back, because he doesn’t know how else to convey the sheer apathy that an all-caps NETFLIX AND CHILL evokes in him. Then he sends Shane his address, and Shane says he’ll bring some beer if Andrew wants. Andrew says yes.

* * *

After a shower, Shane is in his boxers eating Andrew’s hard-earned pan-fried feta-topped red pepper slices. Okay, even saying that in his head makes him feel like a bougie douchebag.

“Surprised there’s no gold on these,” Shane says.

“Fuck off,” Andrew says, albeit fondly. There’s something about having sex with a guy twice in less than twenty four hours that makes you feel a little friendlier towards him than you might’ve before. He probably should’ve anticipated that, actually.

After some amicable pepper-crunching, Shane continues, “Did you say you and Steven talked this morning?”

“Yeah,” Andrew says. He didn’t really bring it up earlier because, well, it’s not exactly _hot_ , but he realizes that he actually could use a friend to work through this with him. So he recounts the bed thing last night, and the breakfast conversation, and Steven’s awkward _That was a mistake_. He recites it word for word, too. He’ll probably never forget that conversation.

Shane pauses. He full on stops chewing, like he’s in a damn cartoon. “I— wait. Wait a second. What?”

“I feel like it was pretty clear, but if you tell me which part is confusing I can reword it,” Andrew says.

“No, I— Andrew. _Andrew_.” Shane puts down his food and grabs him by the shoulders to actually, physically shake him. _Of course he did improv in college_ , Andrew thinks. “Steven totally has a huge crush on you.”

“What the fuck?” Andrew pushes him off. “Come on, Shane.”

“He was trying to tell you he was embarrassed about last night, and you just shut him down! You should actually talk to him about it. Like, for real.”

“Really?” Andrew’s not sure what there is to be accomplished from rehashing the most humiliating conversation of his life, but Shane seems convinced.

“Please,” Shane says. Putting on his favorite postwar transatlantic Hollywood diva accent, he simpers, “Oh, won’t you do it? For _me_ , Andrew?”

“You’re a parody of yourself,” Andrew laughs.

“For real, though,” Shane says. “I feel like someone should get something out of this.”

“As if you’re not going to be putting a ring on it a month from now,” Andrew snorts.

Shane’s mouth twists awkwardly. “He’s had plenty opportunity to make things official if he wanted to.” He ducks his head to avoid Andrew’s eyes, which is both unsuccessful and hilarious since he’s about ten feet tall, and walks over to his fridge to crack open another beer.

Andrew rolls his eyes. “Come on.”

“Same to you,” Shane says, after he’s taken a pull from his beer. Andrew hates that the back of his neck is prickling with heat just from looking up to see Shane’s head tilted slightly back, Adam’s apple bobbing, as he chugs down three or four swallows of beer.

Clearing his throat, Andrew says, “Anyway.”

Shane snorts. “Yeah, okay. Wanna watch more Stargate?”

“Let’s do it.” Andrew leads them to his couch, and they make out in between watching a full episode before Shane heads back to his place. Astoundingly, Andrew _does_ feel better. Better enough to fall asleep easily, and even, possibly, tentatively, to make a mental note to talk to Steven tomorrow about that drunken karaoke night.

* * *

Andrew and Steven make dinner plans for Thursday, which means there are four workdays where Andrew, primed by his weekend encounter with drunk and sleepy bedtime Steven, is helplessly enamored by pretty much everything Steven does. While they’re filming for a Worth It One Stop episode, Steven says something so adorable — Andrew barely remembers it after the fact, but it’s something about how his mom used to pack his lunch in a little Pokemon backpack or something — that Andrew can’t help laughing at the image.

“The last time you laughed like that was at the Ladies Who Drink Their Lunch shoot,” Adam notes mildly as they’re moving cameras around, which honestly isn’t something Andrew was really ready to hear.

It sends him spiraling down memory lane, realizing how long he’s really been this deep in it. A post-shoot evening in Hawai’i had him watching Steven in his board shorts shaking ocean water off while the sun set behind him, and midnight Texas pho had him ready to slip into Steven’s bed, delirious from the potent combination of comfort food and the heady familiarity of Steven’s voice in his ear. There’s something about traveling and eating together that brings out the intimacy in a friendship, he knows, but this feels truly excessive. He tries to avoid reading Youtube comments about his heart eyes.

Today’s shoot is fraught in other ways, too. Andrew feeds Steven because Adam (strongly) advised it, with a look on his face that Andrew is beginning to despise. Steven’s mouth wraps around Andrew’s spoon and there’s a flush high on his cheeks which Andrew isn’t entirely certain is the wine, and Andrew has to listen as Steven makes a noise in the back of his throat that is dangerously close to a moan. He has to watch as Steven’s eyes flutter closed and his mouth turns up in a grin; he has to watch as Steven swallows and says, low and quiet like he’s talking about something sacred, something beautiful, “Wow. That was _so_ good.”

“Yeah, I know, right?” Andrew says to mask the way his heart is fluttering a little more than it was before. Adam is a consummate professional and says nothing; even so, Andrew can feel the judgment.

They wrap it up and that’s Tuesday. Andrew goes home late, just grateful for his own bed at the end of an exhausting day of shooting and trying to get something usable out of the restaurant owner for the video.

On Wednesday, Shane and Ryan are all over each other. Well, not really; they’re professionals first and foremost, and Andrew’s not sure he would’ve noticed anything immediately if he hadn’t been looking for it. But they arrive together in the morning, and Ryan brings Shane coffee from the break room, and at lunch Andrew spots them kissing tenderly in the back patio.

“Glad that worked out for you,” Andrew can’t help saying when he runs into Shane during his traditional mid-afternoon Tasty kitchen snack raid.

“No, that’s—” Shane shrugs. “Things are the same.”

“Don’t look the same to me.” 

Shane digs a spoon into the latest mug cake someone left out for the taking. “Yeah, okay. It’s a shift, sure, but it’s not…”

Jesus. “Wow, man,” Andrew says. He watches Shane scrape brownie batter out of a cup, and it would be a parody of teenage girl pining if it wasn’t two in the afternoon in their damn office, where they work. “I’m embarrassed _for_ you.”

There’s movement out of the corner of his eye, and Andrew looks up over Shane’s shoulder to see Ryan in the hallway just outside the door to the Tasty kitchen. He could be doing anything — Andrew can’t see his face, and he knows there are couches out there, so Ryan could easily be editing or researching or anything else that is part of his actual job — but Andrew has a sneaking suspicion that he might be there to keep an eye on him and Shane. Interesting.

“Shut up,” Shane mutters, and Andrew realizes Shane can’t see Ryan.

“Ryan’s watching us right now. Think he’s jealous?”

Shane blinks up at him, totally guileless. “No.” Andrew’s shocked to see that he means it. That the thought doesn’t even occur to him.

“Just _talk_ to him,” Andrew sighs, suddenly understanding perfectly Shane’s urge to shake him by the shoulders. “You’re already having sex with the guy. How is this even a problem?”

“Maybe I’m not as brave as you,” Shane says.

Andrew eyes him. Shane’s a good guy — a great guy, gives fantastic head, and funny to boot. Maybe he’s just not used to being vulnerable. Maybe he’s not used to risking what he has for more. It wasn’t Shane who built a network from the ground up, and Andrew’s not normally one to mistake professional caution for personal reticence, but if the shoe fits… 

“I think you can do it.” Andrew takes a cupcake, and gives Shane a firm, platonic pat on the shoulder.

Shane blows out a breath. “Yeah. Sure. Thanks, man.”

When Andrew walks out of the kitchen, Ryan is nowhere to be seen. Maybe that’s for the better; Andrew’s not sure he would’ve been able to keep his mouth shut, and he doesn’t need to get himself involved — _more_ involved — in the ghoul boys’ drama.

* * *

They don’t end up having dinner.

Someone keeps Steven overtime for a last minute consult on a video, and then Andrew gets sucked into an informal Tasty planning session, and before he knows it, it’s eight o’clock and he has a text from Steven saying **Sorry I got stuck in the office!!! Raincheck? :)**

Andrew smiles at his phone for a second before he catches himself. He replies **No worries. We’ll make plans another time.** and decides that this time, he’ll leave the ball in Steven’s court.

His cat settles in his lap that night, unusually, as though she can sense that something’s wrong. He scratches behind her head as he browses through Netflix, and tells himself he’s not waiting for Steven to text him back.

* * *

Andrew catches glimpses of Steven around the office in the days after that. He doesn’t text him again, though; after all, by this point, Steven _must_ know. Andrew’s hardly been subtle. Steven undoubtedly knows about Andrew’s crush, and it’s just a matter of waiting for him to get back to Andrew.

He’s making coffee in the break room. When he turns around, there’s Steven, leaning against the counter. He looks great — okay, he always looks great, simultaneously fashion-forward and soft and approachable in a way Andrew could only hope to achieve, but today he’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans that serve only to highlight his long legs. His collarbones peek out above the neck of his shirt, and his head’s turned towards Andrew, leaving a stretch of throat that Andrew itches to get his mouth on. And Steven’s mouth—  _Jesus_.

“Uh. Hey,” Andrew says belatedly, when he realizes he’s been staring for a good goddamn minute.

Steven smiles. “Hey. Feels like we haven’t seen each other in a while, huh?”

“Yeah, I—” Andrew sips his coffee and forces his gaze away from Steven’s mouth. It’s not really an improvement, because he gets stuck in his eyes, warm brown and gorgeous. “We have been busy. Missed seeing you around, though.”

Then Andrew sucks in a breath, because Steven steps closer. Andrew can almost feel the heat of his body, and somehow the imagining is worse; his body tells him it _should_ be feeling the proximity, and so it urges him forward, into Steven’s space, an urge Andrew is hard pressed to resist. “Me too,” Steven says, and perhaps Andrew is projecting, but his voice sounds deeper, quieter.

Andrew sets his coffee down next to him. “We never did get that dinner.” _We never did get that dinner_. Jesus Christ. As though Steven doesn’t know that.

“I know.” Yup. Steven knows. Andrew knows that Steven knows. This is inane. Steven shoots him a grin. “Would be nice to have you around for breakfast, too.”

“Yeah, I—” Andrew’s throat dries up as he realizes what Steven said. Breakfast. Sleep over. Sleep over after _dinner_. “Steven—”

Steven’s mouth twists. “Was that too much? Is this not—” He steps back. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No, Jesus, that’s not at all—” Andrew puts his hand on Steven’s forearm, his bare skin, and the shock of it is transcendental. Steven looks down at his hand, and Andrew can’t make himself let go. His thumb brushes against the inside of Steven’s wrist, and he feels the miniscule shiver that goes through Steven.

Andrew watches the rise and fall of Steven’s chest, once, twice, before Steven says, hoarsely, “Andrew—”

“I should— We should—” He begins the process of removing his hand from Steven’s arm. First, the intention: think about uncurling hand. Then send signal through nervous system. Fingertips release. A simple three-step process, you’d think.

Before he can get past step one, Steven moves in even closer. The heat of his body is no longer imaginary. Andrew’s hand clenches tighter. They look at each other for a long moment; Steven’s mouth opens, but he doesn’t say anything.

There’s a clink a few feet behind Steven.

Andrew peers around him to see one of the new Tasty interns getting a plate. They’re not even looking at the two of them, but Andrew steps back anyway. “I— uh—” he starts, which is probably more incriminating than if he hadn’t said anything at all.

Steven doesn’t move away, though, not for a long moment. Then he seems to remember himself, and steps back. “Well, uh— should we—”

“Let’s make dinner plans,” Andrew interrupts, because if he doesn’t say that it’ll never happen.

Steven nods. “Yeah. Are you free— when are you free?”

“Anytime.” Andrew doesn’t have much of a social life by choice, and when he does go out it’s usually either to bars in the late evening or breakfast in the early morning before work.

“Great,” Steven says, “so, tonight?”

Andrew blinks. Steven winces and continues, “I mean, like, it doesn’t have to be, I’m just, I’m free tonight and—”

“Yeah, come over, I’ll make food.” Andrew takes one last long look at Steven. “If that’s cool with you.” 

“Totally. Totally cool.” Steven nods again, awkwardly, and then says, “I’ll, uh, see you tonight then?”

“Yeah, sure.” And then Steven high tails it out of the break room.

Andrew blows out a breath. He looks up to see the intern staring at him. “What?”

“I— I just got here, so I really hope you don’t hold this against me, but I gotta say. Like, _zoinks_ , dude.” 

Andrew laughs until he runs out of air. “Nice pull, kid.” He goes out to try to get some work done, and more importantly, figure out what the hell to make for dinner tonight. Zoinks, indeed.

* * *

“Rie says we have to try another dessert place next time we’re in Japan,” Steven is saying, seated in Andrew’s dining room. Andrew puts a glass down in front of him, since he refused to let Steven lift a finger to help. Steven continues, describing the location and the permits and the black sesame ice cream.

“Uh huh.” Andrew sets the bottle down on his table. “It’s your show, Steven, we can go wherever you want. You don’t have to convince me.”

He says it lightly enough, doesn’t mean anything by it (except that, maybe, he’d go anywhere Steven brought him), but Steven frowns. “It’s your show, too, Andrew.”

“I— ah, shit.” This is what he should’ve been afraid of. Everything feeling dangerously delicate, caught up in whatever happens between them. “I didn’t mean it like that, Steven.”

“No, I know, I just— _Ugh_.” Steven sips his wine. “Okay, do over. I care about your opinion on the show.”

Andrew’s face heats up. “Thanks, Steven,” he says, quietly. And then, since his inability to be honest and open is what got them here in the first place, he forces himself to add, “And what I meant was, I’d go anywhere you wanted us to go. You don’t have to convince me because I already know I’ll have a great time if you’re there.”

Steven’s grin is radiant. “Same here.” He lifts his glass. “Should we drink to that?”

“Sure,” Andrew laughs, picking up his glass. “Why the hell not.”

Steven clinks his glass against Andrew’s, and Andrew watches, his own drink frozen an inch away from his face, as Steven’s bottom lip meets his glass and he takes a sizeable, but still respectable, swallow of wine, his eyes on Andrew’s the whole time. He puts his glass down; Andrew remembers himself, and takes a hasty sip.

“Feels weird not to be sharing a plate,” Steven comments as Andrew serves him his salmon. 

“Sometimes we don’t share,” Andrew replies, just for the sake of accuracy.

Steven smiles. “When it’s really good food, we do.”

“Aw jeez, Steven—”

“An Ilnyckyj recipe! It’s special.”

“Man.” Andrew scoops some food onto his own plate, blushing. “If you’re gonna keep showering me with compliments, I don’t know how I’ll keep up.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something,” Steven says airily. Closing his eyes, as if to savor his own excellence, he adds, “After all, there’s so much to love.”

It’s sarcastic, but Andrew can’t stop himself from saying, “There is.”

Steven blinks his eyes open. Andrew can’t look away. “Woah,” Steven says, softly.

Suddenly self-conscious, Andrew says, “We don’t have to talk abou—”

“We should, probably.”

Andrew swallows. He has another sip of his wine, and then says… nothing. Shit.

Steven, fortunately, rallies himself a little faster. “After dinner.” He puts a forkful in his mouth, and groans, muffled, “Wow, Andrew, this is _so good_.”

“Jesus, Steven, it’s just fish.” Okay, Andrew might have panicked and called his mom for help in the middle of cooking it, but hey, what Steven doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Still. It’s really good.” Steven smiles, and Andrew shovels some salmon into his mouth to stop himself from grinning back dopily.

The conversation treads delicately back towards the workplace — the reception of Kelsey’s series, the weird room on the fourth floor that’s had a FILMING IN PROGRESS sign on it for as long as Andrew can remember, the One Stop filming schedule for next week — as dinner turns into dessert. Steven, gratifyingly, seems as enamored with Andrew’s chocolate hazelnut tart as he was with the rest of the meal.

“So,” Andrew says, now that he has a full stomach and feels sort of like a real adult human and not a bundle of nerves stacked on top of each other in a trench coat, “should we talk about it?”

Steven shrugs. “What is there to talk about? I’m… into you, clearly, and you’re—” He spoons more of the tart into his mouth. “I guess that’s what we have to talk about.”

“Are you serious?” _Clearly_. As though it was supposed to be clear, as though— “Steven, _I’m_ clearly into _you_ , and—”

“What?” Steven’s eyes widen. “For real?”

“Yes, for real! What the hell— what?”

“Yeah, what! How did we— how did this happen? That morning, after— after you and Shane—”

“Yeah, exactly,” Andrew says, barreling through because now he has to know, “you said you made a mistake, so I thought—”

“Obviously I was talking about my awkward drunken invitation into my _bed_ , Andrew. The invitation that _you turned down_ , by the way. You were the one who said I was super embarrassing.”

“What?” Andrew racks his brain and truly cannot for the life of him see what the hell Steven’s talking about. “What are you talking about? I’m pretty sure I explicitly said you _didn’t_ have anything to be embarrassed about.”

“And then you said you’d done _way more embarrassing shit_ , implying _therefore_ that what I did was _at least a little_ embarrassing.” Steven blows out a breath. “Wow, dude. We are— we are so bad at talking.”

“I— Steven—” Andrew flushes with the realization that he’s made Steven feel ashamed of himself for nothing, really; for what was nothing more than a wholesome, surprisingly nonsexual invitation into his bed. “I’m really sorry I made you feel bad about it. I promise I didn’t mean it that way. I just…”

“So what did you mean?” 

Andrew can’t meet Steven’s eyes. He focuses instead on the space between them, remembering the shitty public speaking advice he got in middle school. _If you look at their foreheads they won’t be able to tell you’re not making eye contact_. “I was trying not to make you uncomfortable. Overcompensating, I guess. Because I’m— because I’ve been—” It’s too much. It’s juvenile to say he’s had a crush, and it’s far too intense to throw around words like _in love with_ this early.

Steven seems to get what he means anyway. “Oh, wow.” He stands up, and Andrew pushes his chair back and to the side, and Steven stands in front of him. Andrew looks up — all the way up — and watches as Steven sets his hand down on the table next to them.

“So, are you—”

And Steven bends down to kiss him, just like that, while Andrew is halfway through asking him if he’s going to get on with it. His mouth is soft and he tastes like cream and sugar and Andrew is stunned, breathless, overwhelmed by the heady feeling of Steven’s nose brushing against Andrew’s cheek.

Steven pulls back an inch— less than that, half an inch, a quarter, nothing but the bare suggestion of space between him and Andrew’s mouth. “Verdict?”

“Huh?” Andrew mumbles, too overcome to even really be confused, and he puts his hand in Steven’s hair, and he pulls him down to kiss him again.

Steven groans low into Andrew’s mouth and presses closer, his right hand settling on the back of Andrew’s chair to steady himself. “Never mind,” he breathes, and moves his other hand to Andrew’s neck.

Andrew shivers at the feeling of Steven’s long fingers pressing in below his ear, cradling his face like it’s precious, like it’s worth the care. “Hey,” Andrew says softly as he pulls away, “should we— can I—” He stands up, and catches Steven with a palm at the small of his back when he stumbles backwards. “Sorry,” Andrew laughs, “I just— figured we could be more comfortable.”

Steven blushes, and he looks, Andrew is concerned to note, a little nervous. “Yeah, we could— we could—” He swallows. “Uh. I mean.”

Andrew frowns. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I just—” Steven steps back. The hand that was on Andrew’s neck is now snaking up to scratch at the back of Steven’s head.

“You look uncomfortable,” Andrew says, because sometimes Steven just needs a push, and Andrew is not great at managing his own emotions but he can handle a conversation. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” Steven rushes to reassure him, and that looks genuine, at least. “No, it’s— it’s so stupid, you’ll think I’m so stupid.”

“I highly doubt that,” Andrew says, and to prove it, punctuates the sentence with a light kiss. “C’mon, you should just tell me now, so I don’t have to—”

“I don’t wanna have sex.” Andrew watches as Steven swallows, and then winces, and then tries for a shaky smile, all in the span of two seconds. “I mean, not— I don’t know if— I just mean right now. I don’t want to have sex now. Or, like, soon.”

“Okay,” Andrew says, unsure of what the problem is. He’d assumed that would be the case, that maybe Steven was still saving his first time for marriage, or at least for something more serious than a first date with a coworker. “Is that— that’s all right with me, if that’s what you’re worried about. I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“Then it was probably extra stupid to bring up,” Steven says, laughing, high-pitched and anxious. “Just, when you said ‘comfortable,’ I thought…” 

“Oh.” _Oh_. Oh, Steven. “No, I just meant— like we could sit on the couch or something. It wasn’t— I wasn’t trying to imply anything.” Andrew sets his hands at Steven’s waist, if for no reason other than that it feels good, and intimate, and nonsexual enough to be safe. “And it’s not stupid to set boundaries. Thanks for telling me.”

“Okay,” Steven says. He laughs again, a little less worriedly than before. “So, uh… couch?”

“Yeah, if you want.” Andrew presses a kiss to Steven’s throat, and feels it when Steven’s breath catches. “Could just stand here forever, though,” he murmurs into Steven’s skin, his mouth trailing upwards towards his jawline.

“You—” Steven’s voice sounds weak, and he clears his throat before continuing, “you might get tired. If we did that.”

Andrew shrugs. “Worth it,” he says, and then giggles. Christ, that wasn’t even on _purpose_.

“Is it?” Steven asks cheekily. “Am I a one, two, or three dollar sign price point?”

“Oh, three, _easy_ ,” Andrew says, and he kisses Steven again. In all honesty, he probably could do this forever; Steven’s mouth is soft and he kisses like someone taught him well, attentive and gentle and unwilling to overstep boundaries, but still enthusiastic. His teeth play softly at Andrew’s lower lip, nothing serious at all, but Andrew’s knees go a little wobbly for the first time in his whole life. He didn’t even know people’s knees _actually did that_.

“I lied,” Andrew says. “I might collapse if we don’t sit down soon.”

“Noted.”

Steven separates himself from Andrew and walks over to the couch. Andrew looks at him for a second, taking in the sight of him: Steven’s kiss-swollen mouth, his heavy eyelids, the beginnings of a bruise on his throat, the easy way his knees settle a foot apart, his arms spread across the back of the couch behind him. God, he’s beautiful.

“Hey, Ilnyckyj,” Steven calls, “you comin’ over here or what?”

“I see how it is,” Andrew laughs, suddenly all full up with dinner and Steven’s bright eyes and his own joy as he moves to stand in front of Steven. “I’m just supposed to follow you around now, huh?”

“You’re the one who suggested the couch,” Steven says, and then reaches up to pull Andrew in by the collar of his shirt. Andrew hesitantly shifts to straddle Steven’s lap, and Steven rewards him for it by pulling him in closer. “You’re hot,” Steven says, his hands settling in at Andrew’s hips to bring him fully onto his lap. “Like, super hot.”

“Think I’m hot enough to pull off a thirst trap selfie?” Andrew asks, because he really can’t cope with all of the things that are happening. Steven’s hands are sparking heat through his shirt, and his skin is unfairly soft where it touches Andrew’s, and his throat is just— it’s just _there_ , being, well, _on display_ , and Andrew is only a man. He kisses Steven again, and grins as Steven’s hands slide down to the hem of his shirt. “You feeling me up?” Andrew is surprised at the state of his own voice, low and rumbling like a damn jet engine.

Something about it must get to Steven, too, because his hands tighten around Andrew’s hips. “Yeah, I guess, if that’s okay,” he whispers.

“Sure is.” Andrew shivers as Steven’s hands wrinkle the fabric of his shirt upwards, so that he can press his fingertips against Andrew’s bare skin. His palms are pressed flat and his thumbs are circling gently against him, and fuck, Andrew has to kiss him, has to gasp into his mouth and put a hand against Steven’s shoulder to steady himself.

It devolves into the kind of sloppy makeout session Andrew hasn’t had since his first year of college, Steven’s hot mouth against his and his hands halfway up Andrew’s shirt. He thinks it could go on forever, until Steven puts a hand on Andrew’s ass, pulling him in closer, setting off an unbearably sexy chain reaction: Andrew bites down a little harder on the mark he’s been sucking into Steven’s neck, so Steven let out a sound which could only be described as a whine, which makes Andrew so suddenly and abruptly hard that he has to consciously stop himself from rutting up against Steven’s stomach. Jesus _Christ_.

“I— I think—” Andrew heaves out a breath. He must look like a mess, if the way Steven looks is any indication; his mouth is so fucking red, and his cheeks are pinked up too, a little sweat beading at his hairline. “If we’re not having sex tonight, I might need a breather.”

“Okay,” Steven says, his voice just as hoarse as Andrew’s. “I— me too. Good idea.”

“Great,” Andrew huffs out, half-laughing. He presses his forehead against Steven’s for a long moment, before extricating himself from his lap and slumping in next to him. “Good. Good stuff.”

“Yeah,” Steven laughs, “ten out of ten.”

Andrew grins. “Worth it?”

“Booooo,” Steven counters immediately, accompanying it with a thumbs down. “Zero out of ten.”

He can’t seem to hide the smile, though, and Andrew sinks back into the couch with a smile of his own.

Steven seems content to let the silence rest, but Andrew is suddenly gripped by a memory of the night that started all of this, their awkward dance and brutal miscommunication. “You know,” he starts, because he really should say it now before his motivation abandons him, “me and Shane…”

“Yeah?”

Andrew laughs softly to himself. “We hooked up with each other because we were so certain we wouldn’t… we wouldn’t ever get to date the people we really wanted.”

Steven freezes against him. Andrew thinks _shit, did I— should I not have—_ when Steven sits up. “Wait, you—”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

Steven kisses him, his hand soft and warm as it curls around Andrew’s. “Andrew,” he says gently. “Andrew. _Andrew_.”

“Yeah,” Andrew breathes. He pulls Steven in close. The Andrew that believed he’d never get this seems totally unreasonable now; Steven _had_ made it obvious, in all his little ways, and Andrew had just chosen not to see it.

Then Steven says, “Was it— it’s Ryan, right?”

“Yup.”

“Aren’t they dating?”

Andrew snorts. “Tell them that.”

“Oh, _man_.” Steven sounds almost gleeful. “I’m not— I mean it’s sad, if he doesn’t feel the same, but I’m pretty sure— like— what?”

“Yeah, beats me.”

“Wow. We are so much smarter than the ghoul boys.”

Andrew’s snort turns into a full-on laugh. “Yeah,” he laughs, “we sure are.”

“Maybe _I’m_ smarter than the ghoul boys,” Steven muses. “You thought I wasn’t even into you.”

“Well, I thought—” He swallows. Maybe they don’t have to air out all of Andrew’s dirty laundry tonight.

“What did you think?”

Andrew can’t deny Steven anything, so he’s not sure why he tried to stop himself in the first place. He admits, “I knew you thought I was hot, but I didn’t think— I didn’t think you’d want to date me.”

“Shit.” Steven frowns. “Well, uh, I— I do. Want. That.”

Andrew shifts awkwardly. “No, it’s— that’s cool. We’re here now. It’s not a big deal.”

“You’re incredibly dateable,” Steven says right over him, determined to convince Andrew of his relationship-suitability. “You’re— you’re so smart, and so sweet, and so good at cooking—”

“Steven, you don’t have to—”

“I’m really happy about tonight,” Steven concludes softly, pressing a kiss to Andrew’s cheekbone. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

“That’s… I’m glad you said that,” Andrew says. “Me, too. Obviously.”

“‘Obviously’,” Steven parrots. “Adorable.”

“Shut up.” Andrew can hear his own smile in his voice, and he doesn’t even want to imagine how besotted he must look right now. After a second, he clears his throat. “Do you— do you wanna watch something? Or, I’ve got coffee—”

“I hate to say it, but I should probably head out,” Steven says, and at least he looks regretful about it.

Still, Andrew is uncomfortably struck by the thought of Steven itching to get out of Andrew’s space, to end this encounter that Andrew didn’t think was awkward at all but likely was. “Yeah, no problem,” he says, and it must come out awful, because Steven flinches.

“No, I didn’t mean—” Steven sighs. “I mean, I should’ve gone home about half an hour ago. I could spend another five hours here and not get bored, I just promised my roommate I’d do the dishes before she wakes up tomorrow and I’ll be too tired if I get home after midnight.”

“Oh.” That… actually makes sense. “Sorry. You can leave whenever, obviously, I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to have a reason.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t want to be here,” Steven says, and presses another kiss to the bridge of Andrew’s nose. The bright ease of it is overwhelming; Andrew shudders, and smiles, and kisses Steven’s cheek.

And Steven turns his head and catches Andrew’s mouth with his, and they’re off again. As he gets a hold of Steven’s thigh, Andrew thinks, _Maybe I should let him leave,_ except Steven’s sliding his hand up to Andrew’s neck and thumbing at the sensitive skin just below his jaw, and Andrew stops thinking much of anything at all.

Andrew’s hand clenches atop Steven’s jeans, his fingertips unnaturally sensitive to the sensation of stiff denim under them, and it all feels like a _lot_ ; the heady taste of Steven’s mouth, his sweat, seems too good, as though Andrew’s had more than just the two glasses of wine with dinner. Steven makes a short, high noise into Andrew’s mouth, and one of his hands curls in Andrew’s hair, and Andrew fucking loses it. “Shit, Steven,” he grunts, feeling a little more animal than human, “we-- _Jesus_.”

Steven grins brightly at him, like this was all part of his plan. His hips tilt up and through about four layers of clothing Andrew can feel Steven’s dick up against his, and it’s all so good.

“Okay, we gotta get you home to your dishes,” Andrew grits out, even though it’s the last thing he wants to be saying. He’s not entirely certain that he won’t come in his pants if they keep on as they are, and he’s fairly sure that would launch the night somewhere entirely unexpected and mostly unwanted.

“Got it,” Steven says breathlessly. The collar of his shirt is a little stretched and his cheeks are red, and Andrew, who finds himself struck by Steven on the tamest Worth It shoots, feels frankly bowled over.

So Andrew pries himself off of Steven, and gives Steven enough space to stand up on satisfyingly shaky legs. They say their goodbyes, and Steven leaves Andrew with a kiss at the door.

It’s almost too lovely for words. Andrew closes the door on Steven’s smiling face, and leans his forehead against it. God. What a— what a night.

As he clears the plates from the table, he thinks about Steven’s mouth against his and his soft eyes. By the time the dishwasher’s running and he’s gotten ready for bed, he has a text from Steven that says **home safe!! had an amazing night <3**

Andrew grins. **Me too. Sweet dreams :)** he sends back. He’s not sure if it’s too much, but almost instantly, Steven sends back three sparkly hearts, and Andrew’s worries are assuaged.

His own dreams, or what he can remember of them, leave him feeling light and happy. For the first time since that infamous karaoke night, the next morning’s pancakes don’t remind him of the most humiliating conversation of his life, and when he gets to work, he sees that Steven has left a mug of coffee on his desk. The sticky note with a heart on it ends up on his monitor.

“Not to sound like a preteen or anything, but that’s so goddamn cute,” Shane says from behind him.

Andrew blushes, but all the same, he agrees: “It is.”

“Jeez.” Andrew turns around to look at Shane. Shane’s lip quirks up. He says, “Well, good for you.”

“Yeah,” Andrew replies distantly, mind already back on Steven. His coffee is comfortably warm in the air conditioned office, and he expects that Steven will join him for lunch, and they might even get to sneak a kiss in before the end of the workday. Shane’s expression turns into an honest, genuine smile that Andrew can’t help but return. “It is.”


End file.
